


A Little Paperwork

by NowhereAtAll



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3639933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowhereAtAll/pseuds/NowhereAtAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor and her commander do some late-night "paperwork."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Paperwork

He stared intently, completely focused. Usually, when a templar stared at a mage like that, it didn't go well for the mage.

Ink splatters, broken glass and scattered papers covered the floor. She had a moment to hope none of them were irreplaceable, then he was on her. She felt a frisson of fright as he pressed her down on his desk. She worried he would crush her under the weight of his armor, but he braced his arms on the desk, looking down at her.

"I want you," he said, bewildered. 

She raised her hand -- not the marked one, for some reason, she didn't want to touch him with it -- and placed it over his heart.

"Do you ... ?" He didn't finish the thought.

"I can't feel your heart beating." Her voice was choked. "Not through this."

He pushed himself up, shrugged his tabard off and tossed it aside before undoing buckles and straps. There were several, and, unable to wait, her hands followed his, mostly helping, but sometimes hindering. Cullen lowered his armor to the floor without a sign of strain. He wore a leather gambeson beneath, padded to cushion the weight of the armor. It had to be hot and uncomfortable, yet he wore it even here at Skyhold.

Although, habitually wearing his armor served him well at Haven. 

She pressed her hand to his chest. His heart hammered under her fingers, and his chest rose and fell with his quickening breath. He threw off heat like a furnace, even through the leather. 

She ran her hands over his chest and stomach, closing her eyes to focus on the sensation of his body under her touch. He was lean, hard and well-defined, all bone, sinew and muscle, a weapon made flesh -- a weapon made to control mages. She should be afraid, but, instead, she ached to touch his bare skin. 

He stayed still, although his chest heaved. 

"How does this come off?" she demanded, tugging at the neatly knotted laces that ran from throat to waist. 

His eyes widened. "So ... you ... I mean ... "

"Off." She pulled at the material over his shoulders. 

He reached to touch her face, but stopped short. 

"Cullen." She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. 

His sense of duty might stop him, even after he shed his armor. That same sense of duty forced him to leave her to die to protect Haven’s villagers. Impressive and indomitable, it drove him to do what was right, but not necessarily what he wanted. 

His expression was so strange: tender, yet guarded. She wanted that wariness gone, even just for a while. He peeled his gloves off and tossed them aside. With a start, she realized he had never touched her without his gloves on before, regardless of all their stolen kisses. Always he had kept this one small barrier between them. 

He cupped her cheek, bare flesh to bare flesh. She laid her hand over his: rough, scarred and calloused from hard work, but more precious than the finest silk brocade. The corner of his mouth -- the one with the scar she found so appealing -- quirked up into a smile. 

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. "You still haven't taken your gambeson off."

His laughter was low and made her stomach do a slow roll. He untied the knot at his throat and unlaced his gambeson slowly. She wondered if he did it to tease her. Surely not, Cullen didn't tease. 

"When you finally kissed me -- "

"Finally?" He raised his eyebrows, but didn't stop undoing the laces. He undid them so leisurely, it drove her mad. 

"I couldn't have made it any more clear I found you attractive. Unless, of course, people regularly ask about your chastity vows?" A thought occurred to her, and she narrowed her eyes. "If they do, I want names."

A blush spread across his cheeks. "Names? I ... "

"You're  my commander." Hers, always. No matter the obstacle. 

His eyes widened at the possessiveness in her tone. "Yes. And no, no one but you has ever asked me about my vows." 

She would die before he got out of that thing. "When you finally kissed me, I was surprised by how forceful you were." Forceful wasn’t the right word. Urgent, maybe starved. A temporary loss of control, even. Thinking about it afterwards, she had smiled in wicked satisfaction to think that she had driven Cullen, of all people, to distraction.

A frown creased his brow. "Did I hurt you?" 

"No, you didn't hurt me," she purred. "Quite the opposite, in fact.”

He turned a brighter shade of red. “I didn’t … I mean … “  He abandoned undoing his gambeson to rub the back of his neck.

She had replayed that kiss on the battlement in her mind an untold number of times while scrambling up Hinterland hillsides and crawling through abandoned mines in the Forbidden Oasis. It had been unexpected, awkward … and absolutely perfect. Even weeks afterward, the thought of it left her breathless. 

“Your technique was commendable, Commander,” she teased. “But it still needs some work.”

He sputtered,  two hands on the back of his neck, his gambeson gaping open temptingly. When it came to temptation and Cullen, she was sorely lacking in willpower. 

“I wonder if you’re naturally talented or if you’ve had practice.” She had an irrational pang of jealousy over the thought of him even kissing another woman. Anything he did before they met had nothing to do with her, but her feelings for her commander weren’t rational. 

“Maker’s breath! You think that I … you can’t … I didn’t … “

“I suspect it’s all innate talent -- while you excel at the physical, you're less than enthusiastic about anything that isn't martial." He had undone enough laces so she could touch his bare skin. Every muscle was taut as a drawn bow, and his breath whistled between his teeth. 

"I was a templar for more than half my life," he gritted out. " I'm familiar with martial. But I do have other interests."

She laughed. "No, you don't." Only a few more eyelets …

"What is this?" 

"A little paperwork?" She loved twisting her lion's tail. 

"Paperwork?" he growled.

"Care to correct me, Commander?"

He kissed her. Forcefully. 

She yanked and leather snapped with a twang, but his gambeson -- finally! -- fell open. He shrugged it off with an impatient snarl, before pressing her flat against the desk, his mouth on hers and his hands in her hair. 

This close, fitted together from shoulder to thigh, she could feel him shake with need and smell his soap, his hair tonic -- that her stoic commander had enough vanity to style his hair amused her to no end -- leather and neatsfoot oil. All together, it was a unique perfume that was his alone. 

He had more scars than she expected, especially since this was the first time she had seen him out of plate armor. She kissed one that snaked across his shoulder. "You haven't been careful with yourself."

An expression of astonishment crossed his face so quickly she nearly missed it. "There hasn't been much reason to be careful." He shrugged. 

"You will be careful from now on. That's an order, Commander. You are important to the Inquisition."

"Yes, Inquisitor." The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Important to the Inquisition?" 

“You are very important to the Inquisition, Commander.”

She understood for the first time the allure templars held for some mages. The fascination wasn’t just illicit kisses, but cracking that seemingly impenetrably grim exterior to discover the raw need beneath. The chantry called it "undermining the moral integrity of a templar."

She wasn’t imprisoned or powerless. He wasn't her jailor or tormentor. This wasn't about claiming some small measure of power or control in a situation where she was completely at his mercy. If that was all it was, it wouldn't be so difficult. 

He kissed her temple. "It's okay. You don't -- "

"I need to know you will be here when I return. It helps. Only fools make promises during war, but ... "

No matter what miserable swamp she slogged through, up to her knees in scummy water and rotting corpses, or harsh desert she trudged across, skin scoured by wind and sand, she could put one foot in front of the other, because no matter what direction she traveled in, it was one step closer to ending this -- and therefore one step closer to him. 

"I will do my best," he said, brushing her bottom lip with the ball of his thumb, making her shiver. "I can't promise, but I will do my best -- if you agree to do all you can to return."

“Agreed.” She buried her face in his shoulder. "Are we really having this conversation sprawled across your desk?" 

"I hadn't intended that, no." He held her against his chest and stroked her hair. 

He sounded so serious that she peeked up at him. "What did you intend?"

Another lopsided smile. His expression was open and vulnerable, the wariness gone, leaving only tenderness and bemusement. "Certainly not to have started in armor, yet be mostly undressed while you're still completely clothed."

“You still have your breeches on.” She pulled the knotted drawstring. 

“There is that, I suppose.” 

She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I thought you weren't good at this."

"I have had a good deal of practice of late and will endeavor to continue to do so until I met your expectations."

"Commander, I would like a demonstration." She began undoing her tunic. 

"As it pleases you, my lady Inquisitor." 


End file.
